Walking Dead: Prophet
by FloodFeSTeR
Summary: Major Lauren Barnes, a.k.a - Prophet, is not trained for the apocalypse, but she's survived it either way. When she meets Daryl Dixon, they're instantly hooked. Will they be the key to saving everyone, or will they get swallowed in this world like everyone else? :: Currently being edited, Updates on Fridays when finished ::
1. Done

_**11:10 - 3/11/14**_

_**For those that don't realize this, I got my inspiration for this from Crysis 3 (it's a videk game). Many of the OC's I'm implementing are from the Crysis franchise and so is the squad name Raptor. Its sort of a crossover, but not really because none of the characters are the same just the names (which most are slightky changed) and something else I added in that won't be touched on for awhile.**_

_**Disclaimer (s): Walking Dead does not belong to me.**_

_**Minor Detail: My OC isn't 'curvy' like Megan Fox or anything. She is a little chunky and her hips show it along with her bust. She's more muscular than chunky.**_

* * *

Atlanta, Georgia.

Lying in ruins sits a flaming building and a tank.

It's scorched and spotted with blood, bodies lying scattered around its hull. Beside the hatch lies a Ham Radio, placed for better service, and then the hatch opens. A curved figure wiggles their way out of the hatch, face covered in a bandana and shaded goggles. Blonde hair peaks out from under the wrap on their head. A gloved hand comes up and tugs the bandana from their mouth and they suck in a breath, pink lips chapped from lack of care. They sting and itch, but it's nothing.

Major Lauren Barnes has been trained to handle worse, much worse.

She reaches down and picks up the mic, pressing the button on the right side and she gets a small screech before silence. "Romeo 1 calling into Romeo Actual..." she waited, but when no sound is heard she sighs. "Major Lauren Barnes calling into Romeo Actual," she still didn't get a response, so she sighed again and curled her right leg towards the sky, propping her right arm on it while she cradled the mic in her left hand. "I know no one can hear me...knowing my luck I'm the only one left in the United States...but standard protocol is something I follow and I am calling in to report that I am the only surviving member of Raptor Team."

Her eyes flicker behind the goggles, looking for the dead, but finding only a plastic bag fluttering across the lawn of the CDC. It had been burning for months now, she remembered the day the building erupted into an inferno. She had tried to flag down the people escaping but she had no such luck. She hadn't been alone then so it hadn't really mattered, but now she was alone and it was scary. But Lauren was a soldier, she could do this.

"Psycho - Sergeant Michelle Sykes - was in the lavatory just off site of our station when she dissapeared a week ago. I have not found a body so I am assuming the second worse, she has been abducted. Aztec - Harold Corte - was killed by undead approximately Three weeks ago. If his family is there, if anyone is there, please let them know he did not die in vain. Jester - Medic Martia Hawker - died of infection ten days after the destruction of the CDC She has no family to report to. Nomad - Lieutenant Jamie Dunn - went AWOL three months after the contagion spread."

She looked down over the edge of the tank, towards the cannon, and sighed, letting her finger off of the button to the mic and she pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and took in a deep breath, trying to fight the headache coming to her. After a few minutes she took in a calming breath and pressed the button again, opening her eyes.

"The scientists that were deployed with us are long gone. I will keep the tech safe for as long as I can or until I find someone that knows what they're doing. I guess I'm wearing it...I have to leave or I'll die in vain. So this will be the last transmission from Major Lauren Barnes..."

* * *

The hallways echo back the voice, papers fluttering around a breeze coming in through a window just below the ceiling. Its dark, the generators have gone out.

"It's a shame that this is how I say goodbye to the people I practically grew up with..."

The cafeteria is empty, rotting food left in strays, smeared on the floor with boot prints left in a haste. A lab coat drenched in dry blood hangs over the back of a chair, swaying slightly.

"I'll keep my promise and make sure the tech finds a safe haven. No one worry about that..."

A tray falls as a dead lab worker shuffles towards the voice, thinking only about the hunger it cannot satiate.

"What am I saying, there's no one left on the base. I'm alone out here..."

The dead man reaches out and hits the radio settled in the corner, knocking it to the ground and then it turns, body pressing firmly against the wall as it keeps walking.

"Just thought I should let someone know, if there was anyone left..."

The radio sputters, the lights going out in the dial and then the radio hisses again.

"Raptor Team was going to be it, but now we're gon. And I'm leaving for a place called Terminus..."

The mic clicks and the dead man slumps to the ground in front of it, blood coming up behind the teeth as a bullet rolls away.

"I don't know what it is, but I've seen enough fresh signs around the city to know its safe. Just gotta follow the railrlad tracks north. If anyone hears this, meet me there..."

The figure crouches down beside the radio, using a finger to move around the mic.

"I don't know if I'll make it, but here's to hoping..."

* * *

_**R&amp;R please.**_


	2. Prophet

_**12:54 p.m. – 3/14/14**_

_To be clear, Prophet is Laurens code name from when she was in the military special forces. I will be using her codename starting at this chapter. Her real name will not be visited for some time._

* * *

Major Lauren Barnes stared down at the fire in front of her with a forlorn look.

A sigh came from her lips as one of the small logs that she had placed inside of the pit collapsed and the flames were effectively snuffed out. She reached her right hand up and scratched at the back of her head, eyes closing as she craned her neck forward. She had been in her small camp for three days, unmoving. Three days in camp, ten days on the tracks, fifteen days since she had left her post. She didn't like being out here, away from her tank, she felt so exposed.

Lauren had always had a tank or a bullet proof vest, a rifle or a machete. Now she was left with a single rifle and a pack full of ammunition. She had left behind her armor in the tank, folded neatly in a corner, and had taken to her combat boots, a blood stained tank top and her cargo pants. Her old partner, and best friend, Psycho, would have already started grating on her nerves about how feminine she looked. Lauren wasn't that type, that was why she had joined the army, that was why she had done all that she had.

"Guess its time to move on," she mumbled, grunting as she pushed herself to her feet.

Terminus, it was a set point up the tracks.

Every few miles she saw a new sign and that meant she was headed in the right direction. But after ten days of walking, Lauren felt like she was getting nowhere. She knew Terminus was far, but damn. She gave a long sigh and adjusted the strap of her pack. If she didn't need to get to some sort of civilization. Well, as long as they were sane. If they weren't, well she would just keep this secret to herself until she found the right people. She knew the best bet would be to try and make it to D.C., but that would be a hell of a walk and she didn't think she could make it alone. She would need help. But trustworthy people were so hard to find nowadays.

Lauren paused in the center of the tracks, looking around at the darkness surrounding her. She absolutely _did not_ like being so…in the dark. But she wasn't afraid, nothing could scare Lauren. She had seen worse things than a bunch of thieves and murderers. She had interrogated terrorists, been through jungles to snipe out drug lords, been held hostage in foreign countries. The apocalypse was not something that frightened her. She had only lost her cool when she found she was alone, and that had been for a minute. She had recovered fast, knowing her team mates, her friends, would not tolerate knowing that she had turned into something they had been trained to not be. Psycho had laughed at her when they were sent on their first mission into Columbia. Lauren had been shaking like a leaf, holding onto her parachute tightly while the storm outside rocked the frame of the plane they were in.

* * *

"_Holy shit, Prophet is shaking," Psycho laughed, her strangely deep voice echoing off of the steel walls around them._

_Lauren, or Prophet, glared at her friend. "Shut up Psycho, it's our first mission, the jitters are sort of a part of the package."_

_Psycho snorted, flipping back her deep burgundy hair. "For you maybe, but I'm excited. I can't wait to kill some fucking commandos."_

"_There aren't any commandos out here," Jester grinned at her. "But there are well trained lions they have roaming around. Attack anything but a familiar face."_

_Psycho laughed, it sounded manic, fitting her code name perfectly. She raised a middle finger at Jester and the young cadet grinned again, her green eyes marvelous. "Jester suck my left nut," Psycho quipped, a smile still on her face._

_Aztec looked up, his face set to disbelief. "Ladies, how about some etiquette," he bowed his head slightly, a small smile on his lips. "We are not a bunch of troopers, we are Raptor Team, special forces. We don't behave like animals."_

_Psycho rolled her eyes, Jester still grinning. "Come on Aztec, get that stick out of your ass. Our very first mission and you mean to tell me you're not just a little excited?"_

_He shook his head, flipping the page of the book in his lap, eyes running over the words swiftly. "I do not get excited over trivial things."_

_Psycho made a haughty face, shaking her shoulders a bit. "Well, I'm excited…"_

* * *

"Looks like we got us a pretty young filly, boys."

Lauren sneered. "Looks like I found me a group of clichés."

The leader, a man with drying blood across his upper lips, glared at her. "Mouthy bitch."

She rolled her eyes and cocked a hip, placing her fist on it. "What the hell do any of you want?"

They all chuckled in precession, making everything more ominous, but Lauren was not deterred. The man she presumed was the leader of this gaggle of idiots swaggered forward, too cocky with her for his own good. Lauren quickly made note of the man standing behind him with the crossbow cradled in his hands, meeting his eyes for a moment before the man took a hold of her chin.

Lauren saw red.

She screamed in anger, twisted her right leg out and around, successfully knocking him onto his ass while she pulled her gun from her back, slinging it around and firing once into a black mans stomach. His eyes grew wide and he coughed out a mouthful of blood, which sprayed across her right cheek, and she knocked the butt of her rifle in the left shin of a man trying to catch her from behind. He crumbled to the ground, clutching his leg while his rifle slid towards her. She lifted her right leg and slammed her boot down on the barrel of the rifle, successfully shattering it into pieces while an arrow sunk into her arm. But she just grit her teeth and looped the pack around her neck, reaching down for what remained of the torn gun and she swung it around into the side of the man with the crossbows skull. He fell to the pavement with a hollow thud, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping like a fishes. The wind had been knocked out of him and there was blood coming from the ear she had hit.

Another arrow flew past her face and she swung the barrel around once more, knocking the next man out. his bow slid around to his right and Lauren dove for it, twisting back around as another man made it to her. She grit her teeth and dropped her weapon, forcing the man's head between the string and the frame of the bow. She braced her chest against his back and got the string snug in the crook of his throat, catching his Adam's apple and tugging up forcefully. His body began to convulse as he tried to pry the bow from his throat. She grinned maniacally as he began to really gasp for air.

The leader made it to his feet then, a wide grin on his face with his eyes half lidded. He began to clap, but Lauren did not let up on her attempt at draining the life from this man, she merely locked eyes with the leader. "Well done, well done, I assume army? First Recon maybe?"

"Special forces," she quipped. "Now give me one good reason why I shouldn't finish this man off."

He shrugged. "Kill him if you like, you have already killed the one I actually _liked_," he mused. "Name's Joe Porter, and may you grace me with your name?"

She stared at him for a long time. "Prophet."

His eyes sparkled. "Ah, Prophet. It is truly a wonderful name. I will not ask for your real name, anonymity is something we are allowed nowadays," he reached into his back pocket, eyes watching as his men slowly made it back to their feet. He pulled out a crumpled cigarette butt and lit it, chuckling as he pulled the cigarette away from his lips. "You are certaintly one interesting little bird, Prophet."

"Get to the point of this little show," she growled, tugging the string higher and forcing the man to flail even more. "My patience is wearing thin."

His eyes were just full of adoration for her. "I could use a soldier like you on my side, what d'ya say?"

"What do you need soldiers for? Looking to start a war?"

"Maybe, maybe," he took a mute drag from his cigarettes, waving his hands around as he exhaled. "Either way, would you care to join us?"

Lauren – or rather, Prophet – looked around at the men staring at her, seeing how much damage she had dealt, and then knew why she was entrusted with the tech, why this man wanted her on his side. Her eyes slid back to him dramatically slow. She stared at Joe with as much malice as anyone could ever muster and then abruptly dropped the man in her grasp. He crumpled to the ground, gasping loudly for air, and Prophet tossed the bow back to its owner. He caught it easily, nodding at her in slight respect, more of fear, and then she nodded at Joe.

"I'll join you, if you tell me where it is we're going."

He grinned, smoke flowing out of his nostrils. "Terminus my dear."

* * *

_So what you guys think of Lauren (Prophet)? I've never written fight scenes like this – meaning between people – like ever, unless it was between mutants – check Fester, my Hills Have Eyes story – and I want to know if I did a good job. Chapters will be getting longer but I won't be able to post as often, just a warning._


	3. Core

_**2:14 p.m. – 3/14/14**_

_I think I'm gonna have fun with this story. From what I've observed with Joe, he's ruthless but intelligent and he knows what he's doing. The female partner of Ricks is from my other story The Damned Don't Cry. It's on my other profile Vatos, I share it with my friend Frera but I can't deal with my Rick/OC story right now so I just added Lloverra to this story._

_Prophet – Lauren Barnes_

* * *

Prophet kept to herself that night.

She watched them make a fire and gather around it, laugh and boast about nonsense. Her back leant up against a tree, she strummed her fingers on the pack in her lap. She wouldn't be sleeping tonight, or for a few nights at that. She didn't know these men, she didn't trust these men, and she wasn't going to for awhile. One kept their eyes on her, a man introduced as Daryl. He hadn't said a word the entire time she had been in their company; she hadn't gave a second thought as to whether it was her presence that made him to stoic, in truth she didn't care. They, meaning these men, were headed along the tracks, towards Terminus, where Prophet had to go. They wanted to start a war, she wanted to get this tech somewhere safe. If someone inside Terminus proved to be intelligent enough to handle this, she would fight to protect the place. If they were useless, she would help Joe and his group fight, if it meant staying alive.

In truth, Prophet didn't know what she wanted to do. What she had desired most, to see Psycho again, was a useless hope now. She had come to the understanding that they would never be reunited.

"Prophet."

Her attention was caught by Joe, who was waving her towards them. Tension laced through her shoulders. "What?"

"Come join us, regale in tales of your past."

Prophet scoffed, eyes narrowing slightly. "Hell no."

He wasn't offended, he just laughed. "Such a spoil sport."

"She said she no," Daryl muttered, speaking for the first time that night. "Leave 'er alone."

The whole group looked over at him, a few of them slightly stunned in how he had actually _spoken_. Prophet stared at him and then their eyes locked. She nodded strictly at him and he nodded as well, pushing himself to his feet. No one said anything to him, but Prophet was actually curious. She didn't know why, maybe it was just that he was so aloof. Or maybe because he reminded her of Jester, her old partner.

Of course, no matter how curious she was, she wouldn't follow like she wanted to. Conditioned to disobey basic instincts. Prophet was the ultimate killing machine, she wouldn't give in so easily to that girl side of her that was drawn to a man. A man who was rough. A man who was safe.

* * *

Prophet woke up to something less than pleasant.

Someone tugging at the zipper to her pants.

Her eyes snapped open and she growled, her left leg curling against her chest and she let it snap forward, hearing a man's howl as her boot connected with someone's nose. She curled both legs back to her chest and swung them out, managing to get onto her feet and then she slammed her read end down on his stomach, pulling her combat knife from her belt and she pressed it against his throat tightly.

"You'd think you would have learned when I attacked your friend," she hissed lowly into his ear, watching his Adam's Apple bob against the edge of her blade in the faint morning light.

"F-Fuckin bitch," he choked out, squirming beneath her.

Prophet supposed this is what she gets for falling asleep. Prophet never fell asleep when she had made plans not too. She must have gone longer without sleep than she had previously thought. But she wasn't going to just let him do what he wanted. What kind of idiot was he, thinking he could do something like that while she was asleep? He was stupid, probably drunk judging by the reek of alcohol coming from his mouth.

"Now now," Joe muttered sleepily, sitting up from his spot beside an oak tree. "It's too early for all this, now what did you do Tony?"

Prophet let up on the blade enough to where he could talk, but by the blood blooming through the stubble along his throat, it was still causing some sort of damage. "Didn' do anything," he managed, coughing and then cringing.

"You fucking liar," Prophet hissed between her teeth, pressing down again. "Tell him, tell him that you were trying to get into my pants while I was asleep."

"Tell him," Daryl commented from behind Prophet, hovering with approving eyes.

Joe looked between Daryl and Prophet, then he looked to Tony. "That true?"

Tony hesitated, obviously fearing something that was in Joe's voice. Prophet noticed it as well and her eyes wandered to him briefly, wandering what he had in mind. Either way, she thinks she would enjoy it.

"Y-Yeah it's true."

Joe tsked and pushed himself to his feet. "Well that's just a shame," Joe waved a hand at Prophet, beckoning her to follow him. "Boys, take care of him. Prophet, care to join me?"

Prophet narrowed her eyes at him but then nodded and jumped to her feet, immediately being replaced by the other men of the group, minus one Daryl. She stared for a moment as Tony was repeatedly kicked and slammed down on with the butts of everyone's rifles. He deserved every bit of that, in Prophets mind. She nodded mutely and turned, following Joe out into the trees. She didn't know what he wanted, but she, in a way, respected Joe already. He was calm, never losing his temper, but he was a vicious leader. That made for respect, or resentment. He needed to be careful in his way of disciplining.

"What did you want from me, Joe?"

He chuckled ahead of her, looking up as leaves fluttered down with a gust of strong wind. "Just curious as to what your plans are."

"My plans?"

He nodded and stopped, looking back at her. She stopped and then took a step back, keeping an obvious distance between them. She may have respected him in some twisted way, but that didn't mean that she trusted him with her life.

"Yeah, your plans. I'm not an idiot, and your not an idiot. Seen the way you keep that pack so close," in response to his words, she adjusted the straps of the pack. "You got somethin important, I ain't gonna pry and ask what it is. I just wanna know if you will be leavin us anytime soon."

"I will be leaving once we get to Terminus. If there is any intelligent human being there, I will stay, if not, I'm headed towards D.C."

Joe smiled. "Dedicated soldier."

Prophet nodded. "Yes, I was trained to be this way and it is the way I am going to stay. I refuse to stoop to a lower level. Giving up on my mission counts as low level."

He nodded, his shoulders moving with the effort, and he brushed his hair back from his face. "I like that, I like it a lot, that's why I offered you to join us from the beginning."

"No, I know what your plans were Joe," she muttered. "Like you said, I'm not stupid."

"That I did, that I did," he smiled at her knowingly. "Fine, you caught me in my lie. You know the rules by now right?"

Prophet stared at him as he maneuvered himself in front of her, arms out at his sides. The rules? Oh yeah, a liar gets punished. She contemplated it for a moment and then shook her head, taking two more steps back from him. The look that crossed his face was too complicated to read but Prophet didn't care about that. She cared about the fact that he was willing to let her injure him in any way. What did he really want from her? She could ask, but he would more than likely give a false answer, and that was no way to do Prophet. She would then kill him and escape before anyone noticed. She already had several plans laid out in her mind, all of them ending in her getting away somehow.

"No," she shook her head again. "I won't do that to you."

He almost looked disappointed. "Oh really? And why not?"

"Because I'm just not going to do that to you," she stated simply, readjusting the pack on her shoulder. "Listen, if this is how you expect me to behave I can't be with you guys."

Joe stared at her, eyes flickering up and down and then he nodded. "Fine, fine the rules don't apply to you how about that?"

She shook her head. "No, then that is a cause for a disruption with the men. Just…I don't know anymore. Let's get back before they kill him. We need as many people as we can keep if we're doing what you think we are."

He nodded immediately. "Yes, we do. But what do you care about it?"

Was he testing her patience? Was he trying to see how far he could push her before she snapped, because it seemed to be the way this was going? Prophet was a trained killer. She knew how to keep her emotions in check, but right now she could just picture herself crouched above him, beating his head in with a cast iron frying pan. So maybe she didn't have complete control over her emotions after all. She looked him up and down, half turned back towards the direction their camp was, and then she grinned, obviously catching him off guard for a moment.

"Stop testing my patience Joe," she stated perfectly, her voice pitched high. "Or I will take up your offer and decapitate you, have I made myself clear?"

He smiled as well, but it was wary, cautious. "Yes, I believe you have."

"Good," she gestured for him to go ahead of herself. "Now, after you."

* * *

Rick stared up at the ceiling, thoughts racing in and out between the wrinkles in his brain, finger tips twitching as he tried to think through the adrenaline coursing through him. Nothing was going as planned, everything was going horribly wrong and there was nothing he could do to stop it at this point. Everything was literally crumbling down around him, making anything difficult. He could hear the screams, see the fire, but he couldn't stop it.

"Rick!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out her screams. "I can't save you," he whispered.

Like Lori.

Like Carl.

Like Michonne.

Like Daryl.

Like Hershel.

Like Carol and Judith and Lizzie and Mika and Merle and Beth and Maggie and Glenn and everyone else that got left behind. He couldn't save anyone, he was a horrible father and a horrible leader.

"Rick Grimes! You get your ass up right now!"

What was the point?

"Fuck – Rick!"

He chanced a look towards her, seeing her waiting for him, blood matted in her curls and that damned cat held in her arms. The blood coming from her forehead had run down her face in a thick stream and she had to keep her left eye closed, making moving difficult until she came face to face with him. The feline in her arms had its claws dug impossibly deep into her chest but Lloverra didn't seem to notice, she was more focused on Rick.

"Rick," she flinched as something fell deeper into the lit house, seeing sparks shooting through the hallway to their right like in a bad movie. "Rick, come on we gotta go, the whole building is gonna come down on us!"

He shook his head. "No, there's no point. I would only make it worse on you."

She grit her teeth and pulled one arm from the feline companion, grabbing a firm hold of his right bicep. "Rick grimes you are going to get your self pitying ass off this floor and you are going to march out that door right now or so help me God I will unleash this cat on you, do I make myself clear?"

He stared at her for a moment and then he smiled, nodding as she helped him to his feet. "Alright…alright let's get out of here."

She nodded and wrapped her arm back around the cat and they hurried towards the door, jogging away from the house before they paused and looked back. it didn't collapse, but the puffs of smoke belching out of the roof was enough proof that it was going to collapse any minute now. Lloverra swallowed thickly and then reached out to Rick, fumbling for his hand and finally catching it. She gave it a firm squeeze and then looked up at him, seeing his eyes still on her.

"We'll find him Rick," she promised, determination set in her jaw.

He nodded after a moment. "I know we will…"

She swallowed again and looked back at the house. "Carl is a tough young man, he won't go down so easy. Let's just focus on resting for a moment."

"Where can we do that?"

She shrugged and looked over her shoulder, brow furrowing as she heard something crackling through the trees. After another moment of standing still her eyes widened a fraction and she forcibly pulled Rick towards an old Chevy truck frame that was sitting amongst a thicket of weeds. They crouched down on the opposite side of it, Lloverra doing the peeking as she pulled out Rick's colt from the back of her jeans.

The figure that came from the bushes was not a Walkers, for a moment, Lloverra wondered if it was or ever had been human. They were shaped strangely; their arms and legs seemed to have ridges and bumps along the skin but they were obviously female. Their facial structure was soft, throwing contrast to the hard look in their eye and the military clothing they wore that was in desperate need of care. Lloverra could smell them from where she was, of course, Rick and Lloverra didn't smell any better. Her hair was in makeshift dreads, pinned back with what looked like old clothes line.

The woman cleared her throat and the she spoke, sounding bored. "I know your behind that truck, come on out, I don't bite."

Lloverra swallowed and raised her head over the edge of the trucks bed. "We don't know that," she spoke cautiously.

The woman shrugged. "True, but wouldn't I have attacked you already?"

"No," Lloverra almost hissed. "You could just be waiting for us to get out from behind here so you have a clearer shot."

The woman smiled, nodding lightly. "Yeah, you may be right. A cautious and brash attitude. Army medic?"

Lloverra blinked and then finally stepped out from behind the truck, shaking off Rick, who reached out for her ankle. "How'd you know?"

There was a strange look in the woman's eye, like she was missing something, but then she smiled. "I was in the military, had a medic on my squad that had the same attitude."

"Very forthcoming with that information," Lloverra said skeptically.

The woman nodded and then shrugged. "Yeah well, secrets ain't worth shit now are they? This is the apocalypse, no one cares what you did before as long as you're either getting out of their way or getting their back. Now, we can sit here and talk about all the things I could do but I am going to tell you what I am going to do. First, I am Lieutenant Jamie Dunn, you may call me Nomad. Second, I am going to accompany you and that man still hiding behind that truck to Terminus and we will go from there, am I clear?"

Lloverra grinned, letting her feline down. The cat shook her shaggy fur and yawned, looking up with an almost bored expression. "My name is Lloverra, that cat down there is Puff and that man over there is Rick."

Nomad nodded. "We rest tonight, you tell me what happened in there and then we leave at the first sign of light."

Lloverra nodded with no hesitation. She had been in the military, she had known the protocols, she knew not to question any orders she was given. This was no exception. "Right," she looked over her shoulder. "Rick come on out, she's safe."

Rick was hesitant, but did as Lloverra instructed. "How do you know?"

Lloverra smiled at him. "Because I grew up with people like her, trust ne, she's safe," she looked back to Nomad. "You don't look like typical military, special forces?"

"Yep."

"Then what are you doing alone? Special forces doesn't usually mean you're alone."

Nomad's eyes wandered to Rick as he joined Lloverra's side and then she looked back to the woman herself. "To say I abandoned my team would be sadly correct, but I had an actual purpose in doing so and Terminus holds my answers."

"Going AWOL is not acceptable no matter the situation," Lloverra spoke sternly, remembering her days in boot camp.

Nomad waved a hand. "You are smart, but you were not in the same category as I was. The mission is everything and this mission was known by the rest of my squad; they would do the same if they were in my shoes. First to leave was the one designated to complete the mission, I left to spare my CO her trek."

Lloverra smiled a little. "You and your CO are close."

"She is my CO, of course I wish to make as many things as I can easy on her. She has a lot on her plate for the moment."

"How do you know she is still alive?"

Nomad grinned. "Because she is my CO, she is the Prophet."

* * *

_I had a lot of fun with this._


	4. Claimed

_**I really wanna get back into this story. If I can find a competent co-author, it would be much appreciated. Excuse the shortness and any spelling mistakes, I was in a rush.**_

* * *

If you've never been face-to-face with a Walker, you don't know what Prophet is smelling.

The monsters rotting teeth click loudly just an inch from her nose, braced against her arm diagonal across its chest. It could have been a man, could have been a woman, but the flesh is so far gone that there's no way to tell who or what they were before.

A subtle whistle slices through the air and Prophet flinches as an arrow goes sideways into the Walkers skull; blood dribbles down the tip and onto her right cheek. The Walker gives a soft jerked then goes still, all of its weight pressing down on her. With a huff, Prophet pushes the body off of her, jerking out the bolt and wiping it clean on her pants leg; she hands it off to Daryl without even making eye contact. She know he stops to watch her walk away, but Joe is approaching her in the middle and she's more concerned on their destination.

"Why Terminus," she questions.

He hums and rolls that nasty little toothpick between his teeth. "Had a larger group awhile back," they started down the tracks again, Prophet at his side, the others hanging back. "Heard the broadcast, sent a handful of men to take it. One made it back, you shot him. Said things were going good, then the group fought back, killed the others and started cookin' em up."

Prophet paled. "Jesus..."

"Yeah," Joe spoke gruffly. "Which is why we aim to slaughter them all. You're a capable fighter, you'll be handy."

She was just a tool, something she was used to being labeled at. A tool for a higher purpose, a tool for the military, a courier for the package strapped to her back; Nomad was there, she had to be, and she had the other package. Prophet aimed to take it back, even if she had to use force. It was her mission, not the deserter's.

"There may be a woman there," Prophet muttered, bathed in the shadows of thick green leaves. "Tall and built, pale dreads...she's mine. Anyone else touchers her and they die too."

Joe chuckled and nodded. "Understood. Whats so special about her? Lover?"

"Squad mate," she growled. "And a damned traitor, you don't worry about the how's and ehy's just keep your boys in line and we can go our seperate ways after this is over."

One more nod from Joe. It was all she needed. Nomad had basically betrayed her, even though Prophet knew she saw the move as logical. The package was not to be seperated in case a piece were lost or stolen. Prophet would find her.

And she was afraid she just might kill her.

* * *

She talks in her sleep...he's surprised she's even sleeping.

He honestly feels like a creep - like his brother - while he watches her. She's far from this gaggle of idiots, curled in the leaves around that pack she never lets out of her sight; its good though, her protectiveness over her belongings, in this group they'd be gone in a minute.

"Admiring the scenery, Daryl?"

He bristles when Joe appears at his side, giving the man a quick one-over before returning his attention to 'Prophet'. He doesn't speak for a long time, and Joe seems to have no quarrel with the relative silence. They were the only ones awake, presumably. The others had turned in for the night, mumbling in their sleep with weapons held tight. Daryl remembers doing that before the prison, holding tight to a gun or a knife because there was always someone waiting to slit your throat while ya slept. But once they found the prison, that changed. They were no longer sleeping on the roadside or in their cars, in fields where they always had to have a guard. No, they had decent beds, sturdy walls and three locked doors and a couple of gates between them and the real monsters.

Like Joe Porter.

"Damn fine woman right there..."

Daryl grit his teeth and glared at Joe. "She mine, ya hear," it wasn't staking a claim, it was a warning.

Joe stared with those predatory eyes, a smirk playing at his lips, laughter in his skin. "Alright," he raised his hands. "But she ain' gonna like it," he almost sang.

Daryl huffed and rolled his eyes, looking back to the woman lying in the leaves. Of course she wouldn't like it, he didn't like it either but Daryl wasn't a bad man and these men seemed to hold steady with the 'Claimed' system. This was for her own good, and his surely enough.

"Not your problem," he snarled.

* * *

_"Prophet," the young blonde blinked slowly, looking away from the herd she was currently mowing through, letting her finger up from the trigger; didn't matter, there were stil gunshots ripping through the night air, what was one less gun? "Prophet, we gotta go!"_**  
**

_Prophet furrowed her brow at her partner, Psycho. She was standing to the right of Prophets turret, shelling out her own dose of lead on the monsters shambling towards them. Prophet had never seen Psycho so disheveled, sweaty and bloody, she had discarded her coat hours ago, simply content with her bulletproof vest._

_"Are you kidding me? This is our post! Ground Zero, this is my site!"_

_Psycho crouched down, anger and venom clear in her eyes. "Prophet! Look around you, the CDC is finished! We. Gotta. Go!"_

_Just then, an explosion rumbled the ground around them. Looking into the sky, they watched napalm litter the city with explosion, helicopters whirring overhead; one was landing in the distance, but it was soon overrun despite the many gunshots coming from its cargo hold._

_Prophet shook her head, wanting to block out all the noise. "My site," she muttered, watching a handful of Geeks pouring over a tank close by. "My site," an explosion rumbled from inside and several heads went flying, fire and smoke belching into the air. _

_She felt a firm tug on her collar and screamed as she was drug down into the cavity of her tank, the lid sealing tight as flames ebbed overhead._

* * *

He'd claimed her.

_Daryl Dixon._

With the stupid fucking system in this group, she had been claimed. Like a bedroll or that fucking rabbit they had killed one of the men over; she now had a shiny new bow. She had used aforementioned bow to kill one of the other men when he had tried to claim her pack when she slept.

"Eat."

Prophet glared from her spot under an oak tree. "Go fuck yourself."

Daryl rolled his eyes and crouched down beside her, holding out a chipped red bowl to her. "Eat," he growled.

Prophet leaned forward, teeth bared. "Go. fuck. yourself," she leaned back against the harsh tree trunk. "Just leave me alone, will ya?"

He shifted, looking back at the men; they were all spread out in the leaves around the fire, bellies full from the deer she and Daryl had brought up. They had fed the pigs when Prophet was ready to let them all starve. Monsters, all of them. Of course, she had dealt with far worse before the Outbreak.

"No," she returned her hard attention back to Daryl. "Look, I claimed ya for your own good."

Prophet rolled her eyes. "And pray tell, how was it 'for my own good'?"

He sighed and pushed the bowl to her again, satisfaction ebbing through him when she finally accepted it. She was an ass. Almost as big of an ass as his brother was, but she had every right. A woman in a strange group of men, one of which had staked a claim on her like she was some animal. It made him sick, but he really did do it for her own good.

He rubbed his face roughly before rocking back and sitting in the leaves; she watched him over the edge of her bowl suspiciously, her jaw buldging with a mouthful of food.

"Look," he muttered. "Wanna hear me out?"

She raised an eyebrow and swallowed the mouthful of food. When she set it down, he saw she had finished in just minutes. That was a big bowl of food.

"I'm listening..."


	5. A

_**Been awhile, hasn't it? Well, that was because my last phone sucked and now I have a new one that doesn't, so here you guys go: Semi regular updates! Note that this chapter sort of fizzles out toward the end but I tried.**_

* * *

The plan is simple and a little shaky, but Prophet thinks it just might work.

_"I claim you."_

He's at her side right now, predatory eyes lingering on the men being too loud on the tracks in front of them; he almost bites a guys arm off for a turnip, or is that a beet? She stays quiet and stoic, her fingers itching to snag an arrow in someone's skull.

_"You claim me."_

When he stumbles, she doesn't catch him, just watches him through those naturally narrowed eyes. She always looks angry, but its just her resting face. It keeps people away, Prophet likes that.

_"When they get comfortable..."_

Joe starts talking again, about the man that killed their friend. Tension is high and Prophet could care less, she's watching the Walker lumbering in the distance.

_"We slit their throats."_

* * *

It's nightfall when they decide to get ready for a break. Joe wants to go as long as possible before they make camp, said they had been stoppin' too much as it is; Prophet silently agreed.

But then there's firelight through the trees and Prophet is tense. Her eyes dart around between the men, wondering anyone has noticed; Daryl has, but he keeps to himself at Prophet's back.

When Joe notices, Prophets tense muscles snap like bowstrings.

"There," his voice is low and primal, a predator on the hunt. "There's our man," his fingers sways where he's pointing and then he drops it all together. "Mikey," he looks back at the spindly young man. "You take Prophet and Daryl, circle back around the road."

He nods, looks to his company and Prophet looks to Daryl. When he nods, she does as well and the group splits off. Prophet is silent, trained for this kind of work, and Daryl is a jungle cat. He slinks around the dangling vines and thick foliage like its nothing while Mikey stumbles every now and again. The road becomes sparse through the trees and Daryl whistles once, making them all freeze. He sidles up beside Mikey, intense as he points ahead like there's something there. As Mikey looks to where Daryl is pointing, Prophet snaps his neck.

He nods in approval and they keep moving.

Prophet grips tight the curved steel of the compound bow, her other hand keeping an arrow tightly notched as she slides down into a crouch in the middle of the road.

"It's three people," she whispers as Daryl stands just behind her. "Two adults," her ears twitch and her heart sinks. "And a kid."

"Wait what," Daryl grunts.

Before Prophet answers him, he's moving. She mutters a curse and darts forward, keeping pace beside him as they close in on the ambush to be. The fire is small and they're joking about a small rabbit; Prophet's mind lingers on the former owner of her bow.

She and Daryl freeze when two of the men appear in front of them, slowly inching towards the couple now alone as the boy settles in the car. The firelight is dusted out and Prophet's skin prickles.

She had forgotten what this felt like, the stalking, the betraying. She remembers sneaking through jungles, stinking to high heaven, getting the kill in and jumping back out of hostile territory. Now, she was always in it but in her line of work, there had never been an innocent kid in the way, she had made sure of that.

"If folks there are taking people in, they have to be strong," the man of the couple says gruffly, making sure their fire is dead. "They have ta have a system."

Prophet slips past Daryl, into the ditch on the other side of the road, bow at the ready. The couple doesn't even notice her coming to rest directly in front of them. If she wanted to, Prophet could kill them, but she wouldn't.

They weren't her _prey_.

The woman is black and scraggly, her face seemingly set in anger. "Wonder if the whole things legit," she mumbled, looking down at the gentle twirl of smoke that comes from the ashes.

There is a snap in the bushes behind them and when they turn, Prophet rises to her feet, pulling back at an extreme weight; this bow was set to kill.

The man stand and the woman reaches for something at her side, presumably a weapon, but the air falls silent save for the chirp of crickets. They look around for a moment more and the man turns, locking eyes with Prophet but he doesn't seem to notice, he just stares and breathed heavy for a moment. He looks away again but Prophet keeps her arm taught, eyes trained on the trees behind them. The man swallows and crouches down again, the woman releasing her old on her weapon.

"We let people in," he starts.

The woman snorts a little, looking at him. "We did," her voice lowers. "So did the Governor."

_So did the Governor_.

Daryl spoke of him, the psychopath with a complex and an eye patch, caused by a black woman named Michonne.

Prophet blinks, these were Daryl's people. Rick, Michonne and the boy must be Carl. She wants to loom for him, to tell Daryl that its them they were stalking, not some lunatic.

But its too late, they're all moving in.

"Yeah," Rick smiles a little and its bitter; Prophet sees Joe carving around them. "Always the same isn't it," Joe pulls a gun. "Don' know until we know."

Joe stretches out his arm and Rick looks up.

"_Maybe this place isn't even there anymore_."

Joe digs the barrel of his pistol into Rick's right temple and the men step out of the darkness.

"Oh dearie me," Joe snarls in a cheery voice, Prophet steps out onto the asphalt. "Today is a day of _reckoning _sir," he leans in with venom then straightens his back, looking around at the others; he seems proud to see Prophet there. "_Restitution _."

Prophet's elbow begins to quiver first, begging to launch an arrow into Joe's cheat but there is a hesitancy in their plan. Should she shoot first without Daryl in sight _\- where the fuck is he?! - _then she's dead and that's being stupid. No, she breathed in deeply through her nose, trying to calm her racing heart.

"A balancing of the whole damn universe," where the fuck was Daryl?

Prophet heard a thump and saw that fat fuck that tried to rape her in her sleep tapping on the window to the car and licking his lips; even in the darkness, Prophet could see his terror.

"Shit," Joe chuckled. "And I was thinkin' of turnin' in for the night on New Year's Eve," he chuckled, the others just grinned maliciously. "Now, whose gonna count down the ball dropped with me huh," Prophet tensed as he turned his eyes on her. "Prophet? Come on, count with me - _10 Mississippi, Nine Mississippi, Eight Mississippi -_"

"Joe!"

Prophet breathed a small sigh of relief when she heard that revelation in his voice upon approach. All eyes ran to him, except for Prophet's, she kept her eyes between Joe and that fucker at the car, who only cared about getting to Carl.

There was relief and astonishment, _care_, that relaxed Rick's face, but only for a moment. For a moment, there was utter joy in their eyes and Rick twitched like he would cry, but he didn't. Daryl looked down at them, wheels turning and he looked at Prophet.

She nodded and returned to glaring as Daryl shrugged sideways for a moment. "Hold up," he started moving closer.

"You're stoppin' me on eight, Daryl," Joe whined.

Daryl approached, face blank save for a slack jaw and Prophet gave him an odd look. It was like he were trying to see if it were really them, if they were just wearing their faces but they were strangers.

"Jus' hold up," he mumbled.

One of the men spoke up, gun raised and Prophet almost dared him to wave it at Daryl. "This is th' guy that killed Lou, so we got nothin' to talk about," he barked.

Joe shook his head and waved a hand. "The thing about nowadays is we got nothin' _but _time," if Joe wasn't such a monster, Prophet would like him. But he was still holding that gun. "Say your piece, Daryl."

Daryl looked back at Prophet again but she didn't move, just kept that bow trained and he looked back to Joe. "These people," he licked his lips. "Yer gonna let 'em go. These are...good people."

Joe smiled crookedly, looking impatient. "Now, I-I think Lou would disagree with ya on that. I'll of course have ta speak for 'im and all 'cause your friend here strangled him in the bathroom."

The air grew quiet, intense, and Prophet didn't like it. Too much testosterone and dumb, blinding, hatred. It made for a potent and horrible combination.

"Ya want blood," Daryl's voice was low and actually soothing, like coaxing a cat. "I get it," Prophet's mouth ran dry as he laid his crossbow on the asphalt, her arm pulling tighter. "Take it from me, man," Rick's eyes flickered around. "Come on."

Joe's face was all confusion and Prophet was ready to put a fletch through his skull like a flag.

"This man killed our friend," he nodded a little, trying to induce belief in his own stupid quest. "You say he's good people. See that right there now is a lie. It's a lie!"

Daryl swallowed and lowered his hand, obviously realizing he would get nowhere with his endeavor. He looked to Prophet and she was ready for murder, eyes on Joe like a cat stalking prey.

"Come on," Joe snapped.

Daryl looked up just as an elbow was slammed into his face. "No," Prophet screeched, letting an arrow fly.

It pierced the throat of Daryl's attacker but there were two more men there to grab a hold of him and throw him against the side of the car. Prophet readied another arrow, having a hard time getting it to find a target as they attacked Daryl in the ribs, stomach and legs. He was grunting in pain and Prophet saw red; one of the good people.

"Teach 'im fellas," Prophet sheathed her arrow and strung her body in the bow. "Teach him all the way.

Prophet went for the men attacking Daryl, hesitating when she hear a car door open, but she was so close. She grit her teeth and swung an arm out, her knuckles protesting as she slammed them into the back of one of the men's skulls. He screamed in pain and flailed out, trying to grab at her but she jumped back and cocked her right leg, kicking him square in the chest. He stumbled back and she snarled, leaping at him, her knees coming down hard on his gut.

They fell to the ground and he reached up to grab her hair, pulling it loose at the roots but she felt no pain. She grabbed him by the sides of his head and began to slam it into the pavement, growling like an animal as she heard the boy crying out and Daryl close to crying himself between the solid thumps of wounds struck.

She began to stop when the back of his skull was flat and her hands slipped in the blood and squishy grey matter.

She held her hands flat at her sides as she stood, chest heaving. She whipped her head around to Joe, who was staring at her in horror. She snapped to when she heard Daryl grunt and turned, kicking the attacker in the hip. As he stumbled, Daryl staggered to his feet, using the car as a support while Prophet drew her knife and drove it to the hilt into the mans sternum. She pulled her face close to his, locking eyes and she drug the knife up into his breast bone with minimal resistance.

Blood welled in the corners of his mouth and looked in his scruff on his chin. Prophet pushed him away, relishing the sound of her knife sliding out of his skin and bone before wiping it off on the leg of her pants.

"Jesus," she looked over at Daryl, knife still clenched tightly in her hand. "You're brutal."

She shrugged and then jumped when she heard the boy screaming. She jerked back and saw Carl being thrown to the ground, the fatter man atop him and Rick chomping at the bit.

"You leave him be," he snarled, struggling to his feet, bur Joe shoved him back down.

Prophet lurched forward but Joe waved his gun at her, his jaw slack and all sense gone from his eyes.

"I'm gonna fucking rip tour heart out," Prophet barked. "I'm not afraid of that gun."

Rick's nostrils flared as Joe snickered, pointing it back to Ricks temple. "Listen, it was me. It was just me," he rumbled.

"_See_," Joe chirped, bending down to Rick's level. "Now that's right. It's not some damn lie. Look," he grasped Rick by the shoulder, watching Prophet with hard eyes. "We can settle this, we're reasonable men."

Prophet swallowed reflexively, her fingers going numb around the handle of her knife.

"First, we're gonna beat Prophet to death," she snarled at him like a dog. "Then we're gonna string Daryl up. Then, we'll have the girl, then the boy," he leered. "Then I'm gonna shoot you and everything's gonna be square."

He began to laugh and Prophet switched her blade, listening to Carl and that fat fuck struggling to her right, seeing Michonne at gun point.

Prophets nostrils flared when Carl was grabbed by throat and she heard the clink of a belt buckle. Before she could move, she heard a pop and blistering pain shot up her left calf. She looked down and, in the faint moon light, saw blood slowly seeping through her pants leg. She looked up at Joe and he was grinning, like this was funny; to him, it probably was.

"Let him go," Ricks voice trembled in anger, Daryl was coughing behind her.

"Stop ya squirmin'," Carl sobbed, fighting with weak arms.

Ricks eyes rolled around, lingering on Prophet before he seemed to resign himself to some fate and his voice evened out.

"Let him go," he said one final time.

Prophet leaned back against the hood of the car, trembling with adrenaline and pain slowly breaking through the surface. As she slipped down to the ground, slowly draining of energy, Rick threw his head back into Joe.

The gun barked and Rick closed his eyes, rolling them a couple times, shaking his head to try and relieve the ringing that had no doubt settled in his ears. He looked square at Prophet as Joe stumbled away, coughing and wheezing, muttering curses.

He stumbled to his feet and swung back at Joe, landing a punch on his left cheek before Joe countered by knocking him in the face with his elbow. Prophet flinched and Joe stalked towards Rick, calm and mildly collected.

"I got 'im," he kicked him in the gut. "Oh, its gonna be so much worse now."

Rick scrambled to his knees, blood shining over his face as he tried to leap at Joe, only to be kicked back down. Michonne struck at the man holding her at gun point but he back handed her and leveled his sights.

"Come on, get up," Joe raved, waving his gun around.

Rick stumbled on his knees, struggling and Prophet saw Daryl trying in vain to get further. He slumped at her feet, Prophet was in utter agony but she slowly drug herself back to her feet, knife in hand.

As Joe and Rick struggled, Prophet limped towards the man over Michonne and slammed her knife into his back. He groaned and arched, whirled back to punch her to the ground. Prophet wheezed and tried to get up but he came down on top of her, pointing his gun at her throat. Prophet grinned through bloody teeth and hooked her fingers under his arms, applying enough pressure for her fingers to break skin.

That was when he really screamed.

His gun went off near her head but Prophet didn't care, she dug her fingers deeper, but she wasn't getting far; he needed to suffer just like the others.

As the man rolled off of her, she left him to Michonne and rolled over, locking eyes with Carl who was pressed onto his stomach by a hand over his head; Prophet couldn't move anymore.

And then there was this sickening, tearing noise and everything stilled.

Prophet blinked and followed the sound, seeing Rick slowly tearing a mouthful of flesh and blood from Joe's throat. Joe stumbled back, gripping his throat and spitting blood.

Rick spit out the chunk to the ground as Joe fell, gurgling and writhing while Rick slowly turned to look at Carl. Blood ran down his cheat and stained his bear but he was a man on a mission.

Prophet slowly smiled and then a laugh bubbled up between her lips until she was cackling and felt she couldn't stop.


	6. Changes

_**This is where the story veers off into its own AU of S5, though there will be elements of the season in there.**_

_**Alexandria may or may not become involved, I don't really care for the place so its up in the air right now.**_

* * *

"You just have to take a chance."

Its a little late for chances, but seeing as Prophet has a mouthful of cloth, she can't really say shit like that, now can she? The copper tang of blood bloods her senses as she is still presses head-first into the draining bin. Two dead, five to go and she can still hear the hum of the metal bat behind her, ready to go so she doesn't feel her throat being slit.

At least the crazy cannibals are considerate.

"We have a man who knows how ta stop it," her cobalt eyes flicker up, heat spreading from the small of her back, precious pins dug into her spine begging to latch onto something. "He has a cure, we just need ta get him to Washington."

Prophet snorts, drawing the attention of the entire room. Gareth - the supposed leader of Terminus, _not _the military left in charge here - arches an eyebrow at her and slowly closes his little log book. He looks over her head, jerks his chin and she is allowed to sit up. When he crouches in front of her, she sees a pathetic little worm, someone she would actually enjoy killing. Daryl has eyes on, back stiff as she and Gareth size each other up; there is no competition, she will kill him. She doesn't move as he tugs down her gag, just licks the corner of her dry mouth.

"You ever wash those things," she snaps. "Tastes like meth and spit, what kind of junkies you haul in?"

He chuckles and scratches his thumb under his chin; she sees yellow between his gums. "You're good," an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "A fighter. I'd have offered you a pot to piss in here but you tried to slit my mothers throat -"

"Where is Sergeant Harper," she's had enough foreplay. "Lieutenants Ross and Jackie? What did you do with the military installation that was here?"

Gareth cocks his head, a wormy little grin on his face and she's close to seeing red. _Not yet, save it, remember him_.

"So that's why you're so...rough around the edges," he shakes his shoulders a little, more smug than he has the right to. "Ex military?"

"None of tour God damned business," her eyes are hooded and dangerous. "Where. are. they?"

"Gone," he sighs, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet softly. "Things got hot, they packed up their equipment, their guns and their men and they left us here to fend for ourselves. That's what happened to them. The only thing they left us was a room full of radios."

If she's upset, she doesn't show it and Gareth takes it as time to get the ball rolling. He nods once and shoved the cloth back into her mouth, ignoring her eyes as he moves to Rick. His eyes move from her to the man crouching in front of him, jerks back when the cloth is free from his mouth. Rick is more loose with his emotions than Prophet, but he was still trained well and all he shows is anger where she is passive. It makes her give out a small smirk, she doesn't really know why though.

"Saw you go into the woods with a bag," Gareth pauses. "aaand come out without it. Have ta pull my spotters back before we go look for it," he looks to Prophet and she yawns around the cloth. "What was in it," he cocks his head slightly at Rick, who just stares at him with slightly parted lips. "You hid it, right? In case things went bad? _Smart_! Still, we'll find it, buuut its too dangerous to go out there right now."

Prophet watches him pull a thin blade from his belt, watches him jerk Bob forward with practiced ease. Bobs struggle is weak, completely put on hold once the blade is within inches of his left eye. Prophet looks between the others, see them plainly watching; how many times had they been held hostage? She'd have to applaud them once they were out of here, if they made it out with her. And she would make it, she had to get her tech back. There was no way in Hell she was leaving it in the hands of these people and she'd slaughter them all the moment she got the chance.

"What was in it," Gareth questions Rick with a slight hitch in his voice. "I'm curious," he shrugs. "And it was a..._big _bag," Rick just stares at him. "Are you really gonna let me do this," he jerks his head at Bob.

"Lemme take ya out there," Rick has a slight smirk to him. "I'll show you," complete honesty and then he would shove a machete through his gut.

Gareth chuckles. "Not gonna happen," he eases the blade within an inch of Bob's eye. "But this might."

"There's guns in it," Rick sighs a little. "AK-47, 44. Magnum, automatic weapons, night scope, there's a...compound bow aaand a machete with a red handle," Rick nods, a sigh coming through his nose as he levels his eyes with Gareth. "That's what I'm gonna use to kill you."

Rick Grimes, a man after her own heart.

Gareth smiles and lets out this small breath that might be a laugh, sheathing his pathetic little blade as he lets Bob go. In goes the gag, Rick gets a pat on the shoulder and a thank you. Again, the most polite cannibals Prophet has ever ran into.

And then she hears it, before anyone else does - the scrape of Walkers amongst an eerie silence where there was once the sound of cooking outside the building. The room seems to realize, freezes and Gareth grabs a radio from his hip while Prophet has her wrists bleeding through her coat, easing through the zipties. He says something but there's this rumble, the ground shakes and no doubt that's an explosion. Prophet clamps onto the bin with her teeth while everyone slumps, her eyes locked in a cold grip with Gareth as he looks around, bewildered. She keeps her hands tight behind her back, refusing to release the metal while the others try to gather themselves. She can smell the smoke already, charred Walker flesh amongst the blood just inches from her nose. The windows rattle, Daryl kicks against the concrete to her hip and Prophet releases the bin at last, looking down at him. She shakes her head fiercely as her tongue presses against the cloth, slowly working the knot behind her head, loosening it until she has to hold it in with her teeth.

Had to get out of here.

Had to get the tech.

"Stay here," Gareth orders, panic in his eyes as he snaps at the men one more time before fleeing the room.

Prophet counts to ten, watches one of the men beginning to panic a little, cranes her head to the others. Rick is working the narrow edge of a piece of wood against the ties, making it strain but Prophet has enough time. She reaches up with ease, no need in being fast when there was such a distraction and pulls the cloth from her mouth. She glared at the back of the bald mans head, standing and then finally charging at him. She grabs his head and twists it with a flick of her wrist, grinning maliciously at the next man while she leaps at him. She wraps her legs around him and grabs his head, pressing it hard as they topple over. He screams when his head collides with the concrete, going silent with two more thrusts of her arms. She snatches the knife strapped to his hip and her boots slip on blood, but she passes Rick - who is already free and working on Daryl - to slice through Glenn's bonds. He thanks her in a hoarse voice as he stumbles to his feet, Prophet jerking Daryl up in one movement.

"We run, we can get by em," Rick says against crossed glass. "They're distracted."

"We gotta let those people out," Glenn says slowly, just gets blank stares. "That's still who we are," he shakes his head. "Its gotta be."

Rick licks his lips and nods, looking over at Daryl, Bob; he gets a nod. But Prophet shakes her head and Daryl is instantly stepping back, to which she protests with pushing him towards the door.

"You all go," she says. "I _have _to get that tech back, I have to. If I leave without it we're all fucked anyway," she looks pointedly at Daryl. "I _will _meet you back where we stashed the weapons, okay? I need you all to get your people out of here first."

Rick clenches his jaw but knocks Daryl in the shoulder. "She's right, come on," Daryl grumbles but pushes outside with Bob and Glenn. Rick stops Prophet before she can go in the opposite direction, concern in his brow. "You be careful, okay? We expect to see you out there."

Prophet chuckles. "Don't worry about me."

He shrugs. "Okay then, I won't," a flash of teeth and he's gone.

* * *

_"Terminus is gone..."_

She finds Nomad's frequency to let her know, the fight isn't over and she isn't about to give up looking for her. The group she's with has grown, people Rick and the others knew, trusted, and the man claiming to have a cure.

"You're dumb," she tells him as she lights a cigarette, leaning against an old oak while Terminus burns; they should have let her kill them all.

This _Eugene _almost looks offended. "Excuse me, I am smarter than you that's for sure."

She has a hand around his throat before the sentence is finished. His toes dangle off the ground and his fingers dig into her wrist; she's still smoking. The one called Abraham looks ready to tear her apart but Daryl has a gun - not that bow - to his head. The air is tense but very few look like they care.

"You're _nothing_," she growls. "Hear me? _Nothing_. You think you're smarter than me? You're not, you could never dream of being on my level and the moment you do - I'll be there to gut you like a hog. Got me?"

He chokes out something that could be an agreement and, for his sake, she hopes it is. The moment she drops him, he crumples like she expected and she snorts, tucking a hand into the pocket on her pants.

"There is no D.C. left," Prophet speaks slowly. "I called for weeks, I didn't get an answer. All that matters to me right now is finding my partner Nomad and I swear, if any of you get in my way I will fucking kill you."

She looks pointedly at Abraham - who is foaming at the mouth - but the whole group, reasonably, takes it personal.

"Nomad must have really pissed you off," Rosita grumbles.

Prophet flicks away her cigarette and shrugs off her heavy, bulky, pack and holds it up. "See _this_," she shakes it a little before sliding it back onto her back. "Nomad has a similar piece of equipment on her persons and they are not to be separated but she took it upon her self to defy her C.O. and disappeared with it. I know her trail ends near D.C. but the place is empty," she looks down at Eugene. "Its a fools errand to try and breach."

"But you plan on going anyway," Rick cocks his head, face creased with caution but intrigue. "How do you plan to do that?"

"_Alone_," she snaps. She stared at each face, the concentration, confusion and distrust in her and she sighs. "Look, I get that you all may be capable fighters and all but I _won't _have any of you work on my own brigade. The only one that would probably get a chance is Daryl."

"Like him better," Abraham tries to poke the bear.

But she nods. "Yeah, I do," she looks at Daryl and he is unfazed. "He's a soldier, like Rick and Michonne. _You_," she points at Abraham. "You're the front line. Nothing. Easily sacrifice. This false campaign may give you purpose but it doesn't make you _anything_ important."

"Surprised that mouth of yours hasn't gotten you killed," he growls - quite literally.

Prophet smirks, cocking a hip and swaying languidly. "That a challenge," she arches an eyebrow. "Come at me, sweetheart."

Rosita clasps a hand on Abraham's shoulder before the challenge can be formally accept and Prophet snorts, ruffling her bangs but she could honestly care less. She's still injured from the fight with Joe and his group, she's in decent pain from having to fight her way through Terminus and the others aren't in that good of shape. She has this undeniable urge to assist them in finding a safe place but she can't. There is no room for their plight in her path.

But she needs them.

And they - unknowingly - need her.

"Look," Prophet sighs. "I don't really care about your false cure, your temper tantrums," she looks to Rick. "I promised you I would help you get out of Terminus - that's what I did, right?"

Rick looks to the others, nodding as he looks back to her. "Yeah, you followed with your word," she nods once and adjusts the bag on her shoulder. "But at least -"

"No," she snaps firmly, yet gently. "You have your own set of problems, your own goals - but I beg of you, if you know what's good for you _stay out of Washington_," she shrugs off a gun from her back.

Its menacing and strange looking, something they had never seen before and there was an undeniable hiss as seven small chambers rippled along the barrel; it was nearly as tall as Prophet, nearing five foot two. There were strange marking along the grip, like hexagons but they shimmered in the dim lighting filtered through the trees.

"This is called a SCARAB Mod2. Fourth eight, rapid fire casings - a perfectly balanced weapon even in the most virgin hands. This rifle," she shouldered it once more. "is the only one of its kind and belonged to a dear friend of mine. Its the only thing of hers that was in that little storage room. None of the log books they had said she was there - only that a catch escaped. Months of thinking she was dead and I'm not about to abandon the trail now. I know where she was headed, I know what to do and I will cut down anyone or anything that gets in my way of her," she gave Rick a small smile. "Find your baby girl, keep your group safe - take my damn advice."

"I'm comin' with ya," Daryl stepped forward - the smaller woman, the one that saved them all, looked slightly distressed.

"Daryl," Rick shook his head. "Ya gotta stay with us," _they needed him_.

"He's right," Prophet sighed. "You have to stay with your group. Thank you for the help with Joe's group but -" her eyes flickered around. "This is my mission and this is where we part ways. I'm sorry."

He almost looked hurt, but there was an understanding in his eyes. "You know how to track," Prophet cocked her head, watching as the others began to weedle their way out and around them. She looked back to Daryl, who had this patient intensity to him, and she nodded. "I'll mark up what I can...lead ya to us if you change yer mind."

Prophet actually cracked a smile and then nodded softly. "Okay Daryl," a chuckle broke up her words.

He shook his head and she tenses when he lurched forward, grasping her by the back of her head and pulling her to his lips. Her spine rolled, pins piercing skin yet again in defense but she melted, pressing lightly against him before she shook her head and jerked back, bracing a hand against his chest. He looked rather smug for someone greasy with a black eye and she thanked the Heavens that she wasn't blushing; Prophet did not get embarrassed.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing," she balked.

He shrugged. "Given ya a reason to come back."

She scoffed and pushed him back. "You really think that's what's gonna make me come after you all? A kiss?"

He chuckled. "Yeah."

She gapes at him before she shakes her head. "You know you're a real piece of work, right?"

He bumped her shoulder with his, not looking back but she did. "Oh yeah."


End file.
